


Recovery

by imaginary_golux



Series: Recovery [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, these precious idiot fluffballs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:19:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5726059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn is recovering from being lightsabered in the back, and also from being brainwashed for decades. Poe is recovering from the whole disaster on Jakku.</p><p>Also, Poe might be pining. Just a little. Perhaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Poe knows he’s living on borrowed time. Resistance fighters don’t often get to grow old, and fighter pilots – well, there are old pilots, and there are bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots. Poe is bold – the best pilot in the Resistance – and therefore he expects to die well before he has to start worrying about things like grey hair or failing reflexes.

Pilots are known to play as wildly as they fight, and in this, too, Poe lives up to the reputation. He drinks like a fish when he’s off-duty. He flies like he’s dancing and dances like he’s fucking and fucks like he’s flying, and he does it all with that sweet cocky grin and all so well that no one can even object to any of it. He spends his nights with anyone who offers – and the best pilot in the Resistance does get offers – but never twice with anyone. He leaves no broken hearts behind him; it’s never about love, just about celebrating the fact that they are all, somehow, still alive. Poe is so sweet about it, so clearly just having fun, that no one begrudges him his drink, his dancing, his constant one-night stands. It is a joke around the base, but one with no teeth to it, only indulgent smiles.

And then Jakku happens.

See, Poe has always assumed that his death will be a swift and violent thing. He’s a fighter pilot, not one of the ground troops, not a spy; if he dies, he has assumed, it will be because he dodged wrong and someone got a lucky hit, and he will be scattered in a million pieces across the starscape before he even knows he’s made a dreadful mistake. Getting captured – Poe doesn’t know how to deal with that. He certainly doesn’t know how to deal with masked horrors turning his brain inside out. Oh, he tries – his tongue has gotten him into (and out of) enough trouble that he can basically sass on autopilot – but he knows he’s going to die slow and hard, and he is not ready.

Being rescued is almost as much of a shock as being captured, and when the rescuer turns out to be a stunningly beautiful young _Stormtrooper_ , of all things, well, it’s a good thing Poe can banter on autopilot, because wow, this is not something he knows how to deal with.

And then the crash.

Poe is not used to failure. He’s been the best pilot in the Resistance an awful long time, and even before that he was a clever boy, a well-loved son. And now, in less than a day, he has lost the map, lost BB-8, let that masked horror take the information from his very brain, stolen and lost a ship, and named and lost a beautiful boy who only wanted to help him get away. It’s…it’s a lot to deal with.

General Leia is very gentle about it, when Poe is brought back to base, scuffed up and sunburnt and with a broken arm but not too badly injured anyhow. She tells him it was a nearly impossible mission and he nearly managed it anyhow, that he did the very best he could and therefore no one could have done better, and she sends him off to the med droids with a calm smile and a gentle hand on his shoulder that makes him feel even worse.

His first night out of medical – and a broken arm doesn’t take so very long to fix, after all – he finds himself a bottle of something strong and a corner in the mess hall, and starts drinking. The more he drinks, the worse he feels, and so he drinks more to make the horrid feeling in the pit of his stomach go away, and by the time he really realizes that it’s not getting any better, he’s far too drunk to move. He wakes up the next morning with a blanket over him, which was kind of someone, and a splitting hangover.

He gives the rest of his booze away, grinning cheerfully to hide the headache, and doesn’t try that again. But without anything to dull the dreams, he’s honestly not sure how long he’s going to be able to deal with the nightmares. A masked figure looming over him, and splitting pain through his head. A beautiful young Stormtrooper smiling at him, and then dying, over and over. Endless sand.

Really the worst ones are the ones where the beautiful young Stormtrooper – _Finn_ , Poe named him, just before he died – where he’s alive, but hurt, and Poe didn’t find him, and he’s dying by inches in the endless sand of Jakku, and it’s all Poe’s fault.

He spends his days tinkering with his ship, and his nights sitting awake, curled in his blanket and staring at the wall. He dozes sometimes, but always wakes again with a gasping cry. He supposes he could find someone to share his bed – even now, he gets offers every few days – but he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this, doesn’t want to see pity instead of lust in someone’s eyes.

If only he wasn’t grounded, like all the other pilots, until General Leia finds them something to do. Although he knows that sleep-deprived and twitching is not the right mindset to fly, still he _is_ the best pilot in the Resistance and he _can_ still fly. Little hops to test the minor changes he’s made to his ship don’t really count at all, and he wants nothing more than to be up among the stars again, invincible and free.

Flying the rescue mission to Maz’s Cantina is a relief, a glory – he is finally where he belongs again, in the air, in glorious flight. He is in his element, and for a few minutes he is able to forget his grief and failure, to be again the best pilot in the Resistance, the golden son.

Landing – getting out of the X-Wing – hurts like breaking his arm again, like tearing his heart out of his chest. How can he go back to misery?

And then – miracle.

He sees BB-8 first, _hears_ him first, that warbling beep which has been a constant in Poe’s life for so long, and turns from his ship to see the little droid hurtling towards him, looks past it and –

Poe’s jacket looks _good_ on Finn.

And if BB-8 is here, if _Finn_ is here, then the mission was not a failure, _Poe_ is not a failure, he can stop turning the whole mess over and over and over in his mind because _it didn’t happen_. Finn is not dying by inches on the sands of Jakku, BB-8 is not being taken apart for scrap, the map is not in the clutches of that masked horror.

“You completed my mission,” Poe tells Finn, hardly able to keep from kissing the other man, and, “Keep it. It suits you.” Because the jacket really does look better over Finn’s broad shoulders than Poe should probably be thinking about, and because Finn is apparently a real hero, the sort Poe has been dreaming about being for years and years.

That night there are no nightmares. Not much sleep, either, admittedly, with all the planning for the attack on Starkiller Base, but still, when Poe _does_ snatch a few hours in his bunk, they are blessedly peaceful. Something else to thank Finn for, in the silence of his own head.

*

Poe is still high off of the sheer joy of flight, of doing the impossible and doing it with panache, of actually managing to blow up the whole damned Starkiller, when he gets back to base and hops out of his ship. He’s thinking about grabbing Finn and maybe going and getting drunk, letting pretty people buy them both drinks for their heroism, dancing the night away and sleeping without nightmares.

And Finn comes off the Millennium Falcon limp in Chewbacca’s arms, and Poe’s plans go up in smoke. Because _no_. Finn survived Jakku, he survived the strafing of Maz’s cantina, he can’t be dead now! But no, he’s not dead, there are medics hurrying forward, and Poe manages to take a breath, realizes he can’t go haring off after the gurney until he’s made his report to General Leia, sends BB-8 instead. “Come get me if I – if I need to be there,” he tells the little droid, and BB-8 bloops affirmatively and heads off after the gurney at his best speed.

And then Poe waits, because he is not so foolish, even in his own distress, as to intrude upon the General’s grief.

*

Rey asks Poe to look after Finn, before she heads off to find a legend and become the first new Jedi in decades. Poe gives her half a grin across Finn’s unconscious body and promises to do so, manages to make her grin back, even to bark a laugh. So that’s something. Poe rather thinks that if they ever have time, he and Rey are likely to become good friends: she’s as good with droids and ships as Poe is, and she’s clearly pretty awesome, if Finn cares so much for her, if she cares so much for Finn. Something to look forward to.

Finn spends a worryingly long time in a coma. The med droids chase Poe out every night, and he retreats to his quarters and tries not to worry about Finn waking up – or dying, no, _not thinking about that_ – while he’s not there. And in the mornings, he drills his pilots and checks over his ship and does his best to act normal until afternoon visiting hours. But every afternoon finds Poe at Finn’s bedside, asking the med droids anxiously if there has been any change. The droids answer patiently, every day, no, no change, but Finn is healing. It’s just going to take as much time as it takes.

One day the droid on duty says something different. “He is nearly healed from his injuries,” it tells Poe, who sucks in a harsh breath of excitement. “But we are still working on purging his bloodstream of a number of contaminants.”

“What sort of contaminants?” Poe asks, horrified.

“Some of them are not familiar to us,” the droid replies. “We think they are a variety of suppressants and conditioning drugs.”

“…Kriffing hell,” Poe says faintly. “All that, and he _still_ managed to break free of their brainwashing? Shit, I knew he was something special, but…”

“Indeed,” the med droid agrees. “He will not wake today, but he is healing steadily.”

“Thanks,” Poe says, and sits down in what has definitely become _his_ chair beside Finn’s bed. “Hey, buddy,” he adds quietly to Finn as the med droid rolls away. “So where were we yesterday? Right, I was telling you about my mom teaching me to fly…”

*

When Finn finally wakes up, Poe is there. Poe is reading to Finn from the X-Wing repair manual, in fact, because his ship is doing something a little weird when he turns too far left, and he wants to see if he can figure it out himself; he’s got one hand on the bed, clasped around Finn’s limp fingers, and is holding the manual on his knees with the other. It’s not the most comfortable position in the world, but he doesn’t want to let go of Finn long enough to go find a little table to put the manual on.

So when Finn’s fingers twitch in his, Poe flails and drops the manual on his own foot, ignoring the pain in favor of lurching to his feet to lean over the bed and beam down at Finn’s blessedly open eyes.

“Buddy!” Poe says. Finn blinks at him for a moment, and then, slowly, he grins. Poe feels his knees go weak. Wow. That’s a _hell_ of a smile.

“Poe,” Finn says, quiet and delighted, like seeing Poe is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. “Hey.” He glances to one side, furrows his brow a little. “So…where am I?”

“Med bay,” Poe tells him quickly. “You were out for a _while_ , buddy. I’m afraid your girl Rey has gone off to find Luke Skywalker, but she told me to look after you. We’ll have you back on your feet in no time.”

That earns him another broad, stunning smile, and then the med droid chases him out of the room so it can run tests on Finn, and Poe stumbles back to his quarters with what he suspects is a really stupid grin on his face.

*

He brings the jacket in with him the next day. He took it to be mended, back in the first few days after Finn was injured, and it’s very nearly as good as new. Finn lights up when Poe drapes it over his chest, raises one hand to stroke the soft leather and beams up at Poe. “I was hoping I hadn’t lost this,” he says.

“Nope, not lost,” Poe replies, sitting on the edge of the bed so Finn doesn’t have to crane to see him. “But you gotta promise not to go getting it mangled by any more lightsabers, buddy.”

“I’ll do my best,” Finn promises solemnly. Poe grins at him.

“Then the jacket’s safe,” he says, and Finn blinks and grins as Poe adds, “Your best is pretty damn good, buddy.”

The med droid kicks Poe out again a few minutes later, but not before he’s promised to help Finn with the physiotherapy needed to get the ex-Stormtrooper back on his feet. It’s the least Poe can do, after all.

*

Finn is worryingly unsteady the first day Poe brings him to the gym, wobbling along the wall with one hand on the bar and one on Poe’s shoulder, his steps uncertain and shaky. Poe coaches him along as calmly and encouragingly as he can, cheering when Finn makes it all the way from one corner to the next. Finn laughs at him, which is actually delightful. “I learned to walk a _long_ time ago,” Finn points out, leaning against the wall and panting. “This is not a great achievement.”

“Buddy, you have been flat on a bed for a month with a gaping wound in your back,” Poe says. “Being _alive_ is a great achievement. _Walking_ is even more impressive.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Finn says, grinning.

*

The first week or so, Poe brings Finn right back to the med bay after their trip around the gym; getting Finn into the hoverchair is pretty easy when Finn basically collapses into it at the end of the circuit, panting and slightly grey with exertion. But after a week, Finn is walking steadily and confidently, and once they’ve finished their circuit – rather faster than the first try, and much more easily – Finn blinks at the sign that reads _Showers_ and says, “I’d like to wash the sweat off before I lie down again.”

“Don’t the droids bathe you?” Poe asks, but he’s already leading Finn towards the showers, because at this point Poe would probably go kill a nexu if Finn said he wanted its heart.

“Yes, but it’s not the same,” Finn says, and Poe shrugs and helps Finn through the door into the changing rooms.

Finn apparently has no body modesty, because he starts stripping down as soon as he reaches a bench to lean against. Poe helps him with the shirt, because reaching _up_ is not a thing that Finn has quite re-mastered, not with the new skin between his shoulderblades, but Finn manages to kick off his own loose pants, leaving them in a heap on the floor and starting towards the showers with a determined look in his eye.

Poe follows him, of course, because slippery floors and recuperating ex-Stormtroopers are a _bad_ combination, and he is so busy watching Finn’s feet to make sure the other man doesn’t slip and fall that they’re well into the shower room before he looks up and oh _kriffing hell_.

Yep, Finn is naked. Wow, that’s a _really nice ass_. Poe pinches himself, hard. No ogling the beautiful, innocent, trusting ex-Stormtrooper who saved your life, Poe Dameron, he tells himself. That is _not_ what you are here for. You are here to _help_ him, not _hump_ him.

Finn pauses near the middle of the room, apparently waiting for something; after a moment, he turns around, looking baffled. Poe carefully keeps his eyes on Finn’s face.

“Is the shower broken?” Finn asks.

“What?” Poe says, startled out of his own thoughts. “No – no, you just have to turn it on.”

“Oh!” says Finn. “On – back before, they came on automatically. I was wondering why you were still dressed.”

“Er,” says Poe, and leads Finn over to one of the shower control panels. “Here. You push this button, and then twist this dial to get the temperature right. See, hotter this way, colder this way.”

“Ooooh,” says Finn appreciatively. “How long before it shuts off?”

Poe blinks. “You push the button again to turn it off,” he says blankly.

“You can take _as long as you want_?” Finn asks, delighted. “This is wonderful!”

Poe grins, because Finn’s enthusiasm is frankly contagious. “Yeah, buddy, take your time,” he agrees. “Hang on to the bars, and yelp if you need me. I’ll go run your clothes through the cleaner.”

“Thanks!” Finn says, and Poe backs up, watching as Finn fiddles with the dial and yelps in delight at the sudden spray of water when he pushes the button. And oh hell: Finn, wet and naked and joyful, head tilted back into the spray, water running down his beautiful body in shining rivers…

Poe backs out of the room, slumps down on a bench, and whimpers. He wants to go right back in there and drop to his knees at Finn’s feet and take a good long look at Finn’s cock and then suck it until Finn’s already-shaky knees give out entirely. He wants to grab the soap and spend a couple of hours running his hands over every inch of Finn’s glorious skin. He wants to do all sorts of things which he is _not going to do, damnit_ , because Finn is beautiful and innocent and Poe is not allowed to ruin him.

So Poe gets up and runs Finn’s clothing through the cleaner and tries very hard to ignore the fact that he is hard as a rock inside his loose pants. Nope, not thinking about it, not doing anything about it, not going to make Finn uncomfortable in any way. Nope. Nope. _Kriffing hell_.

The water shuts off just as the clothes are dry, and Poe plops them on a bench and grabs a towel and heads in, carefully keeping his eyes on Finn’s _face_ and not on the gorgeous body so unselfconsciously on display. “Good?” he asks, and Finn beams.

“That was great!” he says. “The water was warm!”

Wow, the First Order are bastards, Poe thinks, not for the first time. “Brought you a towel,” he offers. “Need any help drying off?”

And oh, why did he have to say that? Because Finn nods, and turns, and says, “I don’t think I can get my back.” Which means that Poe has to step forward and – very gently, conscious of the tender new skin – pat Finn’s back dry. It is a very nice back, all clean lines, even allowing for the horrid lightsaber scar down the middle of it. It would look very nice against Poe’s sheets…nope, nope, not going there! Poe finishes drying it and steps away, handing Finn the towel as he turns back around, and tries not to watch as Finn dries his arms and chest and head and – shit, Finn can’t bend over, can he?

No, no he can’t, and he’s looking at his damp legs a little mournfully, so really there’s nothing for Poe to do but take the towel back and sink to his knees at Finn’s feet and try _really really hard_ not to look at the absolutely gorgeous cock right in front of him. Which…goes about as well as you might expect, really. But Finn’s legs _do_ get dry, and Poe doesn’t _actually_ lean forward to see if Finn tastes as good as he looks, and Finn doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss, so he’s going to count that as a complete win, thank you very much.

They get Finn dressed and back to the med bay somehow – Poe is rather in a daze, and not quite tracking properly – and the med droids descend on Finn en masse, so Poe makes his excuses and escapes back to his own quarters, where he locks the door, slumps back against it, and shoves his hand down inside his pants. Kriffing hell, this is going to _kill him_ , isn’t it?

At dinner that night, Jessika looks Poe over and raises an eyebrow. “You feeling alright, Dameron?”

“Fine,” he says weakly. “Just…thinking about stuff.”

“Sure,” she says dubiously. “Let us know how that goes, yeah?”

“’Course,” Poe says, and flees.

*

Showers get a little easier as Finn’s range of motion returns, and after a week or so he doesn’t need any help drying his own back or legs. Which is still a week in which Poe manages to spend every evening with a hand down his own pants, whimpering at the remembered images of Finn’s glorious body, wet and shining and delectable. But he doesn’t actually _do_ anything, or even let Finn know that his feelings are anything but platonic, so Poe is still counting that as a win, godsdamnit, because otherwise he may just have to curl up in a ball and despair.

Unfortunately, with the increased range of motion and steadily improving strength comes a new training regimen. Finn is quite insistent in his desire to regain the strength and agility he had before his injury, which means that Poe spends their hours in the gym watching a shirtless Finn lift ever-heavier weights and stretch his ever-stronger body in new and appealing ways. And Finn is _already_ as strong as Poe is, judging by the weights he can lift, and as he improves, well, he’s just going to get stronger. In fact, Poe learns when he asks, at his peak form Finn should literally be able to bench-press Poe.

Oh kriffing hell. Poe has always rather liked being manhandled, and Finn has good hands _anyway_ , broad palms and blunt dexterous fingers; thinking of those hands with that _power_ behind them, of what Finn could do with that sort of strength in his arms and back, in those strong thighs that Poe has become rather too well acquainted with…

Poe helps Finn set up the machines, and cheers Finn on, and keeps Finn from overexerting himself, and then retreats back to his own quarters once Finn is back in the med bay and has to bite his knuckles when he comes to keep from screaming Finn’s name. Thankfully, Finn doesn’t notice the bite-marks. That would be…awkward.

*

After a month of physiotherapy, the med droids reluctantly agree that Finn is fit enough to leave the med bay. Poe pulls a couple of strings – not that they need to be pulled very hard, not for the hero who took down Starkiller’s shields – and gets Finn a room right next to his. Which is probably an _awful_ idea, but Finn clearly likes being near Poe, and Poe really does enjoy Finn’s company – the other man is so cheerful, so wide-eyed with wonder at everything, so delightfully eager to learn – and it just makes sense for them to room next to each other when Poe is going to be showing Finn around the base _anyway_.

The fact that Poe has to go out and buy a strip of leather so that he has something safe to bite on and his moans will not be audible through the too-thin walls is a _completely irrelevant problem_.

So they move Finn’s things in – he has clothing, now, made to his measurements while he was unconscious, though his prized possession is still the battered leather jacket which used to be Poe’s – and then Poe suggests they go down to the mess hall together to meet some of Poe’s friends.

“Yeah!” says Finn enthusiastically. “You talk so much about them – they sound great!”

Poe grins. This can’t possibly go wrong.

Oh, wait, this is Poe’s life now. _Everything_ can go wrong.

“You must be Finn!” Jessika says when she sees them. “Come and sit by me! Poe talks about you so much – finally got out of the med droids’ clutches, did you?”

Finn grins, sheepish and pleased, and tugs Poe over to sit next to him. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s good to see the rest of the base – I was beginning to think it was all med bay!”

Jessika laughs. Poe sees Finn watching the line of her throat, sees _Jessika_ looking at _Finn_ , and despairs. Of course Finn is interested in women. He’s probably waiting for _Rey_ , come to think of it, probably _pining_ , and Poe is just too oblivious to see it. Jessika makes a joke and puts a hand on Finn’s arm, and he grins at her, wide and friendly, and Poe’s dinner turns to ashes in his mouth. No, he should be _happy_ about this. If Finn is happy, that’s a _good_ thing. Jessika is a great person, Poe’s best friend; she’d be really good for Finn.

Kriffing hell, though. Poe can’t watch this. And yet if he leaves, Finn will think he’s done something wrong, or will follow him, and Poe’s not that selfish. He _won’t_ be that selfish. No. No, he’s a better man than that. He will _make_ himself a better man than that.

*

To Poe’s relief, Jessika does not invite Finn back to her room, and though Finn seems delighted to talk and laugh with the other pilots, he seems just as happy to get up when Poe does and trail him back to their rooms. “You have nice friends,” he tells Poe, who grins and agrees: when they’re not flirting with Finn, Poe’s pretty fond of them too.

“Knock if you need anything, buddy,” Poe tells Finn, and Finn nods happily.

“Thanks, Poe,” he says. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

*

That night, Poe sits himself down and thinks long and hard, and not very happily. It would be so easy to make Finn utterly dependent on him; easy, even, to seduce Finn, most likely. Finn would probably let Poe do anything he wanted to and with him, and, well, Poe knows he could make it good for Finn. None of Poe’s many bed-partners have ever had any complaints on _that_ front. But Finn has worked so hard, has risked so much, to become his own man; if Poe ruins that by taking Finn’s choices away, then that would make Poe just as bad as all the First Order bastards who hurt Finn in the first place.

So no. Poe will let Finn make his own choices, and when Finn chooses Jessika, or Rey, or whoever, well, Poe’s gotten pretty good at jerking off, these last few weeks. Nobody ever died of unrequited lust.

A little voice in the back of his head that sounds annoyingly like BB-8 at his most knowing says, ‘Just lust?’ Poe ignores it. All the arguments against falling in love – there’s a war on, he’s going to die young, he’s probably crap at relationships that last longer than a night – they’re all still valid. He can’t be in love. It’s just…friendship. And lust. That’s all. That’s all he’ll let it be.

*

The next morning, he’s just got his pants on when there’s a knock on the door. He yanks it open to find Finn in the corridor, wearing nothing but sleep pants and a sheepish expression. Well, _there’s_ a sight to wake up to.

“Sorry,” Finn says, “but they gave me all these clothes and I don’t know which ones to wear. Can you help?”

Ah. Hell. It is too early for this sort of temptation. “Of course,” Poe says, because he will never refuse to help Finn. “Show me what you’ve got, buddy.”

The Quartermaster apparently knew that Finn had nothing in his wardrobe to start with, because there is a slightly dizzying array of fabric spread out on Finn’s bed. “Right,” says Poe, picking up a pair of pants in a really abhorrent green and tossing them over by the door. “Send _those_ back, they’re dreadful.” He glances over the rest of it, and reminds himself of his new vow. He’s not going to take Finn’s choices away, even in the matter of clothing – he’s not going to let himself dress Finn up like a doll. “The rest of the pants are pretty neutral – they’ll all go with any of the shirts,” he says. “Pick a shirt you like and go from there. You can’t go wrong.” He smiles encouragingly at Finn.

Finn considers the heap of clothes. “Okay,” he says slowly, “then I don’t want to wear white or black. Can I send them back to the Quartermaster, too?”

“Of course,” Poe says, snatching the offending garments off the bed and sending them to join the awful green pants.

Finn grins at him. “This one,” he says, picking up an orange shirt. “It’s the same color as BB-8.” He drops his sleep pants in favor of a pair of light beige trousers before Poe can get his wits together and turn around, and pulls the orange shirt on, then shrugs into the leather jacket. “How’s that?” he asks, turning and holding out his arms to display the first outfit he has ever chosen for himself.

“Looking good, buddy,” Poe says hoarsely. Behind him, BB-8 bleeps.

“What’s he saying?” Finn asks curiously.

Poe feels his ears go pink. Please let Finn not notice, he prays desperately. “He says you look like a matched set now.” A matched set _belonging to Poe_ , specifically, but Poe’s not going to say _that_ bit aloud. The shirt _is_ Poe’s favorite shade of orange, though. There’s definitely an uncivilized part of him which is delighted that Finn is wearing Poe’s color, proclaiming his allegiance for all to see. Poe tries very hard to squash that thought, and also the one about how nice it would be to crowd Finn up against a wall and get his new shirt all rucked up and stain his new pants.

“Let me just go grab a shirt and we can go get breakfast,” he says instead, and Finn beams.

*

Their days fall into a new pattern. In the mornings, they eat breakfast together: Finn is an early riser, and laughs at Poe’s sleepy mumbling and bleary eyes, but also brings him hot drinks and sweet bread and lets Poe lean against his shoulder until Poe is fully awake. And Finn is beautiful when he laughs, so really Poe doesn’t mind at all.

Then Finn goes off to spend his morning telling the General or the techies or the strategists everything he can remember about the First Order and how they work, and Poe goes off to work on his ship or fly drills with his squadrons or study the tactics for an upcoming mission – you know, his actual _job_ on this base, since General Leia does not keep him around just to make Finn smile. Unfortunately.

They meet again after lunch for a few hours in the gym, where Poe spots for Finn and doesn’t even bother trying to keep up with the steadily heavier weights Finn insists on using, because a fighter pilot doesn’t need to have muscles on top of muscles, and also Poe tries very hard not to ogle Finn while he is shirtless and sweaty, with mixed success. Then Finn’s still-healing back sends him back to his room for a nap, and Poe tinkers with BB-8 or catches up on paperwork or finishes whatever chores he’s been putting off longest. He wakes Finn for dinner, where Finn is made welcome by a different group every night, it sometimes seems. Many, many people flirt with Finn, but he never seems to notice, and Poe, tagging along behind Finn because Finn wants him there, wonders vaguely if Finn is waiting for Rey.

At least if Poe is _going_ to lose Finn to someone, Rey is definitely spectacular enough that Poe won’t mind seeing Finn choose her. Well, not as much.

Poe flies three missions that month, one- or two-day jaunts, and each time he gets back, Finn is waiting in the hangar for him, beaming with relief and pride and joy. When Poe hops down from the cockpit, Finn hugs him – and Poe cannot bring himself to push away, as he probably should. Finn is so warm, so strong; Poe revels, guiltily, in the feeling of being in Finn’s arms. _Those_ nights, he sits with Finn at their own little table and tells Finn about the missions over dinner, and lets himself monopolize the younger man: a reward for surviving, he tells himself. Surely a few nights a month are not too much to ask. This…this limbo is, can be, _must_ be enough.

*

Poe goes with Finn to his weekly checkups, of course, because Poe has something of a stake in Finn’s well-being; but he waits outside the med bay, because Finn deserves his privacy. So he has no idea what might have happened the day Finn comes out looking oddly worried. Poe pulls his friend off to one side of the corridor, instantly apprehensive. “Everything okay, buddy? All good news?”

“Oh – yeah, everything’s fine,” Finn says, and he means it – Finn is a _really_ bad liar – but there is still concern in the line of his brows. “Poe, can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course,” Poe says instantly, because he will never _not_ agree to whatever Finn wants. “What is it?”

“The med droid said it’d help my back if I got a massage every few days,” Finn says. “D’you know anyone who’d be good at that, and who might be willing to help me out?”

Poe must temporarily lose his mind, because he holds up his hands and wiggles his fingers and winks at Finn. “I have _magic_ hands, buddy,” he says. “Look no further for your massage-related needs!”

Finn grins. “Great!” he says. “Let me just go get some oil from the Quartermaster; meet you at my room in half an hour?”

“Sure,” Poe says, and claps Finn on the shoulder, and turns down the corridor to the private quarters. He gets to his room with twenty minutes to spare, and uses the time to lock himself in and sit on his bed with his head between his knees and try not to hyperventilate. Kriffing hell, _why_ did he say he would do this? There are a dozen people on base who can give good massages! How is he supposed to put his hands all over a naked, oil-covered Finn and _not_ instantly explode?

But he said he would, and he cannot bear the idea of disappointing Finn, so with three minutes to spare he grabs an old towel and wipes his sweating hands on the knees of his trousers and goes next door to face his fate. He’s going to do this right if it kills him. Finn deserves no less.

*

Finn, may all the little gods of Poe’s homeworld help him, is already shirtless, sitting on his bed with a holoreader in his hand. He looks up when Poe knocks on the doorframe and smiles like the sun: blinding and immeasurably hot and vital to Poe’s continued existence.

“Just – had to grab a towel,” Poe says hoarsely, holding it up as proof. “Didn’t want to get oil all over your bed.” He closes the door behind him, trying not to feel like he’s just been trapped.

“Oh, good thinking,” Finn says, putting the holoreader aside. “I’ve got the oil.”

“Great,” Poe says, and spreads the towel on the bed when Finn stands, then turns to find that Finn has stepped out of his trousers and is folding them, standing calmly naked in the center of the room. Poe almost swallows his tongue. He hasn’t seen Finn naked in nearly two months, and Finn’s daily workouts have made an already appealing body nothing short of glorious. Poe tries very hard to keep his gaze on Finn’s face, to not drop his eyes to see the sharp cut of muscle above Finn’s hipbones or the solid strength of his torso or – nope, nope, not going there. Kriffing hell, Poe is going to die of this. But before he does – for his sins, or possibly because he has amused some trickster god – he’s actually going to get to _touch_ all that glorious skin.

“Poe? You okay?”

Poe remembers to breathe. “Yeah,” he says, takes another breath. “Yeah, just – swallowed down the wrong pipe, you know how it is. Don’t worry.” He gestures to the bed. “One therapeutic massage, coming right up!”

Finn claps Poe on the shoulder before he lies down, facedown, a vision of perfection. “Thanks, Poe,” he says, a little muffled by the pillow under his face.

“No problem,” Poe says faintly. Oh, hell: he’s going to have to straddle Finn’s hips in order to get any leverage at all. Okay. He can do this. He destroyed the Starkiller, he can give his best buddy a massage.

Finn’s skin is very warm against the insides of Poe’s thighs, and when Poe leans forward to put oily hands on Finn’s broad shoulders, Finn goes entirely pliable beneath him and makes an utterly delightful noise of pleasure. “Warm hands, nice,” he mumbles, and Poe can think of no response but to dig the heels of his palms into the muscle beneath them and begin the massage in earnest.

Finn is…in another context, Poe would have said ‘delightfully responsive.’ No, actually that’s a lie. He would have said, ‘You like that, baby? You sound so good for me. Gonna make you feel even better, sweetheart.’ But he’s keeping his lips firmly clamped together, and his hips held well away from the lush swell of Finn’s beautiful ass, and he is giving a kriffing therapeutic massage and _not_ thinking about how easy it would be to use this oil for less therapeutic purposes. How slick Finn’s skin is under his hands, and how good it feels to be touching him like this. How easily this position could become far less innocent.

But Poe apparently has hitherto unsuspected reserves of self-control, rather to his own surprise, because he finishes the massage, pats a limp and contented Finn gently on his shoulder, says, “Don’t get up, buddy – I’ll get the lights,” and leaves Finn napping on the bed, turning out the lights and closing the door quietly as he leaves.

_Then_ Poe slips into his own room, locks the door behind him, kicks off his far-too-constricting pants, and sinks down onto the bed with a muffled moan, wrapping still-slick fingers around his painfully hard cock. He fumbles on the bedside table for his leather strap and gets it between his teeth to muffle the moans he _knows_ he’s not going to be able to suppress, then collapses backwards on the bed, one hand frantic on his cock, the other sliding, a little desperately and faster than is wise, further down until he can sink one slick finger deep inside himself and close his eyes and imagine that Finn is watching, that Finn’s blunt fingers will be replacing his own, that Finn – that Finn…

Poe comes with a muffled, desperate groan and flops limply back against his pillow. Kriffing hell. There is no way he can survive doing that again, and he’s promised to do it every few days in perpetuity. He’s going to die of lust.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, the smut.

Poe wakes up in the middle of the night to someone knocking on his door. Well, either there’s a mission or Finn needs him, so Poe hauls himself out of bed and fumbles the door open, blinking in the dim light of the corridor, to find Finn looking panicked. Well, that’s bad.

“C’mon in, buddy,” Poe says, knuckling the sleep from his eyes. “Whassa matter?”

“I don’t know who to report malfunction to,” Finn says, an edge of something that might be hysteria in his voice.

“Malfunction?” Poe asks. Shit, he’s not good when he’s just woken up. “Your refresher break?”

“No, _I’m_ malfunctioning,” Finn says, and _that_ gets through. Poe is suddenly completely awake.

“You – what – are you _hurt_?” Poe demands. “Shit, did I mess up your scar – turn around, let me see, kriffing hell, what _happened_?”

Finn does turn around, and his scar looks much as it ever does, which is reassuring. “It’s not the scar,” he says. “It’s…I don’t know the right words. It’s a _malfunction_. Back – back before, I would have gone to the med bay for treatment. But I don’t know if the med droids here do it, or if it’s a disciplinary matter.”

“Okay, turn around so I can see you and explain this in very small words,” Poe says carefully. “ _What_ is malfunctioning?”

Finn turns back around, and gestures despondently down at his crotch. “ _That_ ,” he says miserably. “It’s…it’s not supposed to do anything, right? It’s a malfunction. It’s just for pissing.”

Poe stares at him for a very long moment, while various pieces of information slot into place in his head. Suppressants. Finn’s utter lack of understanding of flirting. A total lack of body modesty.

“For the love of stars and little green planets,” he breathes. “They didn’t even let you poor bastards have _sex_.”

“What?” says Finn, startled out of his despondency and into bafflement.

“No, wait, hear me out, let me talk,” Poe says hurriedly. “It got…it got hard, didn’t it? Standing up against your belly? And it felt…weird but good?”

“…Yes,” Finn says dubiously.

“Yeah, see, that’s normal. That’s _healthy_ ,” Poe says, and then has to sit down, because giving the sex talk to the man he’s been lusting after for months at three kriffing am is…it’s not leaving him a lot of brain left for standing. “C’mon, sit down and stop panicking,” he says gently, and Finn sinks down beside him on the bed. “It’s something the First Order took from you,” Poe goes on. “Sex. It’s…it’s a lot of fun. It’s not a malfunction when your body does that, it just means you’re…aroused. Horny.”

“Oh,” says Finn quietly. “So it’s…a good thing?”

“Yeah,” Poe says. “Yeah, it’s good. D’you…d’you notice it happening at particular times? Or just randomly?”

Finn thinks about this for a while. “Yeah,” he says after a while, “it’s…I can kind of predict it. Sorry for freaking out at you,” he adds, “and waking you up and all. It’s just that I woke up and…um. And I thought I’d malfunctioned even worse than normal.”

“Not a malfunction,” Poe insists. “No, look: if you – if you get hard around a particular person, then that usually means you think they’re sexually attractive, okay? So, y’know, if your…if you’re interested in one of the people who’s always flirting with you at the mess hall, that’s a good way to choose.”

Finn considers this. “What should I do once I figure out…who makes it happen?”

Poe grimaces. Well, in for a moon, in for a planet, as his mother used to say. “You should probably ask them if they’d like to…to be your girlfriend. Or boyfriend. Or just go to bed with you. But only if you actually like them! Very important to like the people you have sex with.” Poe is rather glad that that _is_ the one rule he himself always stuck to: at least he can give _this_ advice without feeling like a complete hypocrite. And yes, once Finn goes off and finds the person who has apparently been giving him hard-ons, Poe might have to curl up and have a good cry, but he’s going to give his friend the best advice he can, because Finn deserves the best.

“I see,” Finn says. Poe braces himself for questions about Jessika or Rey or that one techie guy who’s always ogling Finn’s shoulders, and Finn turns to him and says, “Poe, would you be my boyfriend?”

Poe gapes. He boggles. He…he can’t quite compute. He feels like poor BB-8 that one time his battery ran down and he was just rocking back and forth aimlessly in the middle of a corridor. He takes so long trying to reboot his brain, in fact, that Finn begins to deflate, tucking in on himself like he wants to make himself disappear. And _that_ is completely unacceptable.

“Yes, _kriffing hell yes_ ,” Poe says, and takes one of Finn’s big hands in both of his, raises it to his lips and kisses the tips of Finn’s fingers, thinking that this, at least, might not be _too_ dreadfully shocking to his beautiful innocent boy. Finn’s head comes back up and he _stares_ at Poe, at his fingers against Poe’s lips, and then he takes a deep, harsh breath.

“Really?”

“Oh hell yes,” Poe says.

Finn moves with beautiful economy, all sleek skin and rolling muscle, and Poe is so busy watching the glorious view that he is slightly startled to find himself flat on his back on his bed, with Finn braced on top of him. Well. Yes, Poe can work with this.

“You’ll teach me everything?” Finn asks.

Poe whimpers. This is a dream, right? This is a really good dream, and he’s going to wake up with a wet spot on his pants and bite marks on his knuckles. There is no possible way that his beautiful innocent Finn is _actually_ asking for lessons in sex. Poe doesn’t _get_ nice things like this in the real world. He pinches himself as hard as he can, and flinches.

Finn blinks down at him in confusion. “Stars and planets, you’re _real_ ,” Poe breathes, and reaches up to pull Finn closer. Finn goes willingly, resting enough of his weight on Poe that Poe is pretty efficiently pinned to the bed. “First lesson,” Poe says, quietly. “Kissing.”

And pulls Finn down that last fraction of an inch.

Poe keeps his lips closed to start with, because scaring Finn away would quite probably break him, and Finn makes a startled sound and freezes for a moment, then pushes impossibly closer. Poe cups Finn’s head in his hands and guides him, trying to keep the kiss gentle and almost chaste, and then Finn shifts a little and his leg rubs firmly against Poe’s crotch and there goes chaste, yep, that’s gone forever. Poe opens his lips and licks.

Finn flinches back, meets Poe’s eyes, then slowly leans in again. And oh, his mouth is open, hot and wet and _tongue_ and oh, right, Finn is one of the fastest learners Poe has ever met. He’s certainly picking _this_ up pretty well, Poe thinks, and then forgets to think, because Finn is pinning him to a bed and kissing him with unpracticed but fervent desire, and Poe could probably die happy right now.

“I like kissing,” Finn announces some uncounted time later. Poe grins up at him.

“You’re a natural at it,” he says. “But I forgot something important.”

“Yeah?”

Poe takes a deep breath – as deep as he can with a couple hundred pounds of ex-Stormtrooper on his chest, anyhow. “I ever do anything you don’t like, you _tell me_ ,” he says sternly. “Sex is supposed to be fun and pleasant. I never want to hurt you or make you unhappy.”

“I promise,” Finn says solemnly. “And you?”

Poe grins. “There are very few things you can do to me that I would not like,” he says, but Finn just keeps looking at him, and Poe shrugs a little. “I promise I’ll tell you if I don’t like something, though. Unlikely though that is.”

Finn kisses him. Yep, quick learner. Wow. Tongue. Poe realizes he’s moaning, and then whimpers when Finn pulls away.

“I like kissing,” Finn says again, “but it doesn’t seem to really have much to do with…er.”

Oh kriffing hell, this _must_ be a dream. Poe thinks back to some of the very first filthy thoughts he ever had about Finn, and pushes gently against Finn’s broad chest. “Get up,” he says, “and put your back to a wall.”

Finn does, looking baffled but game. Poe slides out of bed and goes to his knees in front of his new boyfriend, looking up to meet Finn’s eyes and grinning. “You’ll like this,” he promises.

“Okay?” Finn says, a little nervous, a little eager. Poe tugs his pants gently down over his hips – hell, those hipbones, they should be _illegal_ – and feels his mouth watering at the sight before him.

“Oh,” he says happily. “This – buddy, this is _not_ a malfunction.” Finn is beautiful, thick and long and already leaking, and before Finn can say anything, Poe opens his mouth and leans in.

It has been far too long since he’s done this, his jaw informs him, but the rest of him is having little ecstatic moments over hot-salty-heavy goodness, and the _noise_ Finn makes is worth any discomfort at all.

Finn’s hands come down to tangle in Poe’s hair, and Poe rewards that show of initiative with a suck-and-hum combination which he’s been reliably informed is mind-blowing. And Finn bucks his hips helplessly and comes with a moan so loud it’s nearly a roar.

Poe leans back, vastly pleased with himself, to survey his handiwork. Finn slides limply down the wall to sit sprawled with his legs on either side of Poe, and pulls Poe forward into a messy, eager kiss. “That was _amazing_ ,” he says. “What _was_ it?”

“Blowjob,” says Poe, a little smugly, because wow, he made Finn look _this_ happy? Clearly he has done something right with his life.

“ _Wow_ ,” says Finn, and kisses Poe again. After a very pleasant few minutes, he pulls away far enough to asks, “Can _I_ do that?”

Poe’s brain sort of shorts out a little at the mental image. “You can do anything you like, buddy,” he says faintly.

Finn stands up and _picks Poe up_ and deposits him gently on the bed. Poe forgets how to breathe for a moment. His traitorous brain supplies him with a brief slideshow of all the _other_ things that strength could be used for.

“That was alright?” Finn checks, and Poe nods.

“ _Very_ alright,” he says faintly, and manages to prop himself up on one elbow and reach out to pull Finn closer. Finn grins down at him and reaches out to push him flat again, leans over and kisses him thoroughly. Poe makes a high whining noise in the back of his throat, which is faintly embarrassing but then again he’s been dreaming about this for months and still can’t quite believe it’s happening, so…

Finn’s hands are big and warm, and Poe sort of collapses back against the bed and lets Finn do whatever he likes. Finn seems fascinated by the whorls of hair on Poe’s chest, running his fingers through them with a wide grin on his face; and then Finn finds one of Poe’s nipples. Poe’s always been a little sensitive – this has never actually been a _bad_ thing, and has amused the hell out of some of his previous bed-partners – and he can’t quite stifle the moan that rises from his throat. Finn pauses, looks at Poe for a long moment, then rubs his thumb a little more firmly over the same nipple. Poe whimpers.

“That’s good?” Finn says quietly. Poe nods.

Finn thinks about this for a moment, thumb moving in distracting little circles, and then leans down and _licks_. Poe is entirely unsure what to call the sound that comes out of his throat, but it must sounds pretty positive, because Finn does it again, and then gets what can only be called a worrisome look on his face and glances up at Poe and _bites_.

Poe twists one fist in the sheets so he won’t grab Finn’s head and shoves the other hand down his pants to grab the base of his cock, because otherwise this is going to be over _much too soon_. “Kriffing hell,” he pants, and Finn looks up and _grins_.

“You,” says Poe, as coherently as he can, “are a _terrifyingly_ fast learner.”

“Yeah?” says Finn, looking delighted. He glances down between them. “Can I…your pants, can you…?”

“Sure,” Poe says, and kicks his pants off as quickly as he can. Finn just _looks_ at him for a long moment, eyes trailing from head to toe and back up again, and Poe lies still and pants and waits for Finn’s verdict.

Then Finn meets his eyes, and smiles, and says, soft and sweet like he’s telling Poe a secret, “That’s one hell of a pilot.”

Poe’s delighted laugh is cut off by a sudden choked moan as Finn runs one blunt finger delicately up the length of Poe’s cock. Poe shudders, both at the sensation and at the look of hunger in Finn’s dark eyes.

“Tell me how,” Finn says quietly, and Poe gulps, nods, tries to think.

“Wrap your hand around,” he says, and then, “Ohfuck – a little tighter – yes, there. And then – stroke – _aaaah_.” The words catch in his throat, and Finn is staring down at him with wonder and delight. If this is a dream, Poe is going to be very unhappy to have to wake up, but he doesn’t think he could have imagined this so very accurately, so it’s probably real – and Finn leans down and sets his teeth against Poe’s nipple again, and what shreds of self-control Poe still has slip entirely away, and he comes with a keening cry all over Finn’s hand and his own stomach.

Finn looks very smug when he raises his head. Poe whimpers. Smug is a good look on Finn.

“C’mere,” Poe says, and Finn stretches out on the bed beside him. Poe pulls a bit of the sheet over to wipe them off – laundry tomorrow, oh well – then tugs Finn gently over to rest against him. Finn tucks his head into the crook of Poe’s shoulder and relaxes with a contented sigh. Poe grins up at the ceiling, dizzy with joy.

“So that’s sex?” Finn mumbles after a while. His voice rumbles through Poe’s chest.

“It’s one way to have sex,” Poe agrees. “There are others.”

“Teach me those, too?”

“Oh hell yes,” Poe says faintly. “Anytime, buddy. But for now – sleep?”

“Sleep,” Finn agrees, and is almost instantly snoring. That’s a neat trick, Poe thinks, and follows his lover into slumber.

*

Poe wakes up to the smell of hot caf and fresh bread, and the feeling of someone stroking his hair gently. When he opens his eyes, he finds a fully-dressed Finn sitting on the side of the bed, and a tray of breakfast on the bedside table. Finn leans over and kisses him, and Poe sags back against the pillow and luxuriates in the moment.

“So we overslept a little,” Finn tells him. “And you looked so happy I didn’t want to wake you, but I’m supposed to be meeting with the General in twenty minutes.”

“You brought me _breakfast_ ,” Poe marvels. “How are you _real_?” Okay, so he’s not at his best before he’s had his caf.

Finn throws his head back and laughs, and Poe’s breath catches in his throat at the beauty of his lover’s joy. “I told Jessika you’d stayed up late helping me learn a new skill,” Finn says when he has stopped chuckling. “She says sleep in as late as you like, she’ll see you when she sees you.”

Poe’s ears go pink – Jessika is probably going to assume exactly what really happened, and then tease Poe about it mercilessly, regardless of how circumspect Finn was – but he pulls Finn down for a thank-you kiss anyhow. “You’re a good man, Finn,” Poe tells him, and revels in Finn’s smile. “Now off with you – don’t keep the General waiting.”

Finn gives Poe one more kiss and is gone. Poe sits up, grimacing a little at the mess on his sheets, and then sits there smiling stupidly down at the mug of caf for a while. Finn has chosen _him_. Poe is _allowed_ to put his hands and his mouth on that gorgeous body, to find out what makes Finn moan or laugh or beg, to kiss Finn at every opportunity. As long as Poe doesn’t manage to mess this up…it’s kind of a dream come true.

…A dream which requires laundry. Poe finishes his caf and hauls himself out of bed to face the day. And if he can’t wipe the silly grin off his face…oh well, he has good reason to be glad.

*

Jessika claps him on the shoulder when he finally makes it to the hangar, grinning broadly. “You look well-rested,” she says merrily.

Poe grins back at her. “It was a good night,” he agrees.

She shakes her head in mock dismay. “You’re incorrigible, Poe Dameron.” Then, more seriously, “It’s good to see you smiling again. Your sweet boy is good for you.”

Poe blushes and Jessika waves a hand frantically. “Don’t say it, I don’t want details!” she says hastily. “Just – you know. Be good to him. We’re all rooting for you.”

“I’m going to pretend you’re not all _far_ too invested in my love life,” Poe tells her. “Let’s talk about X-wings, shall we?”

“Spoilsport,” Jessika complains, but she turns her steps to the lines of ships without further complaint.

They talk about repairs and tactics until almost the end of lunch; Poe is actually standing up to turn in his tray when Jessika says, “You…you’re good, yeah? You and Finn?”

“I think so,” Poe tells her. “He’s…they fucked him over pretty bad, Jess, but he’s a hell of a lot stronger than those bastards ever dreamed. I think he’s going to be okay, and as long as he wants to keep me around, I’ll be right there with him.”

“You know he thinks you hung the moon,” Jessika says quietly. “He adores you.”

“I adore _him_ ,” Poe confesses, then realizes that it is true and has a moment of blazing panic. He can’t be in love!...But he is. Okay then. Well, hell. “I adore him,” he says again, quietly, and Jessika puts a comforting hand on his arm.

“I think you’ve made a good choice,” she says, then grins and pushes him gently. “Go on, you’ve got a hot date with your man! Get out of here, Dameron.”

Poe gets.

*

Now that Poe is _allowed_ to ogle without feeling guilty about it, he spends most of the two hours they have in the gym watching Finn as blatantly as possible. Finn keeps glancing over at Poe and then ducking his head and grinning a little, which just makes Poe want to kiss him, but – not in the gym.

And then there’s no one else in the showers, and Poe is suddenly reminded of the first time he saw Finn naked, and of the fact that he no longer has to keep himself so firmly in check. Finn is fiddling with the water, and Poe steps up behind him and turns his lover around gently, pushes him back against the wall and sinks to his knees. Naked, wet Finn: yep, Poe would go through fire and flood for this.

Poe looks up to make sure Finn is okay with this, and Finn is staring down at him with such raw hunger in his face that Poe sways a little on his knees. “Kriffing hell, you’re gorgeous,” he says, and Finn blinks in surprise.

“What, really?”

“Really,” Poe promises, and leans in.

This time, Finn is less surprised, a little more prepared; he braces his shoulders against the wall and threads his fingers through Poe’s hair and bites his lip to muffle his moans, and Poe puts all of his considerable skill to work on trying to make Finn moan loud enough to echo from the tiled walls.

He is absurdly proud when he succeeds.

*

Poe knows he does useful things over the next few days. He does the preliminary planning for four missions, and flies one; he meets with the General about supply lines and about moving the base at some point in the future – they do move about every year or so, and they’ve been here six months already; and it’s Poe’s pilots’ job to find new places for them to set up. He works on his X-Wing and banters with Jessika and helps train one of their new pilots, a replacement for one of the too many lost at Starkiller, and gives BB-8 a tune-up, and goes to the name-day party for one of the techies’ new baby.

All of these things are more than a little overshadowed by the evenings.

Finn is, as Poe has learned over the past few months, a _very_ fast learner. He’s picking up binary from BB-8, he memorized the layout of the base within a few days of being allowed to leave the med bay, he’s started to learn how to fix X-Wings just from hanging around with the pilots a few times a week. Finn was _wasted_ in the First Order – if he lives long enough, if they _all_ live long enough, Poe expects he’s going to gain _very_ high rank in the Resistance.

So it should not really be a surprise to Poe that Finn learns how to take Poe _apart_ in a very short amount of time.

Finn has good hands. Poe noticed that _months_ ago, but he didn’t really _notice_ it until the first time Finn looked at him with enormous gorgeous eyes and said, “Can I just…touch?” and proceeded to run his hands over every inch of Poe’s body and quite obviously take careful mental note of all the most sensitive places, and then go back and tease Poe into a writhing, begging mess with nothing but his fingers.

And that was the _first_ evening.

By now, Finn has a fairly comprehensive knowledge of _everything_ which makes Poe moan, or beg, or scream with pleasure, and takes _immense_ satisfaction in rendering Poe incoherent and utterly wrung out. Poe…can’t really complain. Not when his gorgeous lover is kneeling between his legs, hands tight and warm on Poe’s hips, utterly delectable cock buried so _kriffing deep_ that Poe almost thinks he’s going to be split open, but what a way to go. Not when Finn is pinning Poe’s wrists down with those _wonderful_ hands and taking his own sweet time learning how to give a blowjob, slow and messy and the perfect tease. Not when Finn is warm and heavy atop Poe, his mouth hot and perfect on Poe’s neck and one strong hand between them stroking them both to completion.

Not when Finn is riding him, head thrown back, his whole stunning body one long arch of pleasure, moaning so sweetly that the _sound_ is almost enough to bring Poe off, let alone the _feel_ of him, kriffing hell.

So no, Poe’s not complaining about any of that. And he’s also not complaining about getting to give Finn massages, not now that the massages end with _both_ of them covered in oil and…other fluids…and limp and relaxed atop a very battered towel. Or about showering with Finn after hours in the gym, not now that Poe doesn’t _have_ to stop himself from running his hands all over that glorious body, following the shining rivulets down and down and down until he’s kneeling again, looking up into Finn’s eyes to see lust and joy and love. Or about getting to drape himself over Finn like a human blanket, tuck his chin into the curve of Finn’s neck and drape his arms around Finn’s strong waist and let his boyfriend carry a little of his weight for a while, be the anchor Poe has never known he needed.

Nope. No complaints here.

*

Poe is not a gloating sort of man. He enjoys his victories, yes, but he takes pride and pleasure in the victories of those around him, too; back when he was the life of the party, he was as likely to be buying drinks as being treated. So he feels a little bit guilty about the possessive pride he takes in walking around with the marks of Finn’s lips and teeth clear and glorious on his neck. He probably shouldn’t be so smug, take so much pleasure in knowing that those marks mean that Finn is his and no one else’s. He probably shouldn’t occasionally reach up to touch the one low on his throat, right where his collar rubs, and lose a few seconds remembering Finn’s weight atop him and Finn’s hand tight on his hips (Poe still has faint bruises, delightful reminders) and Finn’s beautiful cock hitting all the right places to make Poe come screaming, and never mind the thin walls.

Oh well. Poe’s going to be smug _anyway_ , because when Finn _catches_ him reaching up to touch that mark, Finn’s eyes go wide and he licks his lips and Poe knows that tonight is going to be a very good night indeed.

There are those among the pilots who pity Poe for having finally settled down into a steady relationship, for having stopped going out and getting drunk and flirting with – and fucking – any pretty thing that caught his eye. Poe doesn’t really give a damn. Let them talk.

_He_ has the best boyfriend in the galaxy, in bed or out of it, and Poe’s going to be proud of his beautiful brave ex-Stormtrooper until the day he dies.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Recovery](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5829730) by [imaginary_golux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux), [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins)




End file.
